


Trick or Treat Pirate Style

by jdmusiclover



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Halloween, Romance, pirate antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 11:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21252860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmusiclover/pseuds/jdmusiclover
Summary: Killian asks Henry about the customs of Halloween in the Land Without Magic.  Henry almost immediately regrets arming his pirate soon-to-be-step-dad with knowledge that he has every intention of using for ultimate mischief and mayhem.  Henry’s moms are going to kill him.





	Trick or Treat Pirate Style

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written as part of my Fluffy Fridays anthology, but in light of the fact that it’s Halloween, I decided to resurrect it. The story was written write after 5x5 aired (the episode where Emma takes Violet’s heart in order to get a tear from Henry and free Merlin), so obviously events in this fic that take place after that episode are my speculation at the time, much of which proved to not happen—at least not in quite the way I anticipated. So let’s call this story canon divergence.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Courage, my lad!” Killian called as he reached for his next weapon of choice. “The battle is nearly won! Just a bit more now and we’ll emerge victorious!”

Henry groaned and covered his face with his hand. His mom was going to _kill _him. _Both_ of his moms were going to kill him. Why had he ever let Killian talk him into this?

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

_4 hours before_

“Alright guys, I gotta get going; have fun tonight,” Emma said absently, pecking Killian on the lips and ruffling Henry’s hair. “There should be plenty of Halloween candy in the kitchen for any trick-or-treaters you might get. And Henry, lay off the gory Halloween movies; they’ll give you nightmares.”

Henry rolled his eyes. Geez! He wasn’t a _baby_! He was thirteen years old; and he wasn’t going to get nightmares from a stupid horror movie—especially after all the real life horrors Storybrooke had just been through. 

Still…he couldn’t deny how _wonderful_ it was to have his mom back. Really back. And Killian, too. He’d never take either of them for granted again, even if he did wish his mom wasn’t _quite_ so protective.

“Not to worry, Swan,” Killian called after her. “Go protect our fair city from the brigands and delinquents. The lad and I will protect the home front.”

Mom laughed. “You do that. Can’t have our home attacked by things that go bump in the night.”

“No indeed,” Killian said, swaggering into her space and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Might be we want to put the house to good use after the boy’s gone to bed, and malicious spirits would certainly be unwelcome in such an endeavor.”

He leaned down to thoroughly kiss mom and Henry groaned. Loudly. “Guys! Teenager in the room! I soooo don’t want to see or hear about this.”

Killian leaned back, still holding mom in the circle of his arms. He chuckled, tossing Henry a wicked grin. “Apologies, lad. I shall attempt to restrain myself in your presence, but your mother is near to impossible to resist.”

Emma laughed and slapped him lightly on the chest. “You are such an idiot.”

“Aye, that I may be, Swan, but you love me anyway.”

Her face softened into lines of tenderness, and she reached up to kiss him softly once more. “Yeah, I do. Even more than you love me.”

“Impossible, my darling. None ever loved another as much as I love you.”

Henry made an exaggerated gagging noise and turned toward the kitchen. His mom and Killian were impossible. They’d been bad enough before, but after they’d both almost lost each other and then they’d shared True Love’s Kiss, there was just no living with them. He didn’t know it was even _possible_ to be that sappy.

Henry opened kitchen cabinets, perusing their contents. His mom joked that he was eating her out of house and home, but hey, what could he say? He was a teenager, and he was _always_ hungry. Wasn’t his fault he was growing like a weed. Finally, settling on a bag of popcorn, he tossed it into the microwave and set the timer.

Mom had to work tonight, it being Halloween and Gramps being busy taking Uncle Neal trick-or-treating with Grandma, so it was gonna be a guys’ night with Killian. Henry was really looking forward to it. Maybe, with mom gone, he could persuade Killian to tell him some exciting stories about his days as a pirate. Mom never let Killian tell him any of the good ones.

The microwave dinged, and Henry opened the bag, dumping its contents into a large bowl and then cautiously headed back toward the entryway and living room. He _thought_ he’d given mom and Killian enough time to finish saying goodbye to each other, but there was no way to know with those two. Peeking his head tentatively around the corner, he sighed in relief. The entryway was blessedly empty and free from any passionately kissing parents.

Henry made his way to the living room, where Killian had settled onto the couch, bowl of Halloween candy at the ready. His soon-to-be step-dad grinned and patted the couch beside him. “Apologies, again mate for the embarrassing public display of affection.”

Henry plopped down beside the pirate—in full pirate gear tonight, complete with long leather duster and red vest. Mom had insisted he dress up for Halloween, and he’d flatly refused to parade around in any costume other than that of his former life. When Mom had suggested he dress like his Disney counterpart, he’d protested so loudly, they could probably hear him in the underworld—and shrugged his shoulders. “’S okay I guess. I mean, I’m glad you and mom are back together and happy and stuff.”

A shadow of pain passed over Killian’s face, and Henry knew he was thinking of what they’d all been through. “Me too, lad. Me too.”

“So what do you wanna do tonight?” Henry asked around a mouthful of popcorn.

“I thought it might be best we have a little chat,” Killian said. “As it appears we will be residing in Storybrooke for the long haul, I’d like to know as much about the customs and rituals of my new home as possible. What, precisely is the purpose of Halloween? Why is one required to dress in costume? Am I to believe people enjoy watching moving pictures whose purpose is to frighten them witless? Why is one required to dispense candy to children who dress in costume and demand it?”

Henry set in to answer to the best of his ability. _“I don’t know; maybe you should ask Grandma Belle. Because dressing in costume is fun. Yeah, people like horror movies. Trick-or-treating’s just fun; what can I say?”_

And that’s when the trouble _really_ got started.

“And precisely why do the little ones demand ‘trick or treat’ if it’s only treats that are expected?”

Henry shrugged. “I think the original point was that kids gave people a choice: either you give them a treat or they give you a trick, but now it’s basically just about the treats…although some people do get into playing tricks on people on Halloween.”

Turns out, that was exactly the _wrong_ answer to give a (mostly) reformed pirate.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

_Present time_

Henry groaned again as Killian wrote his name on Grandpa Rumple’s window with a bar of soap. The signature was big, bold and sprawling, and just in case there was _any_ question who it was that’d defaced the former Dark One’s house, Killian drew an excellent replica of his hook.

“Killian!” he hissed under his breath, “don’t put your _name_!! You want _everyone_ to know what we did?”

Killian shot him a disgusted look. “I’ll not hide behind anonymity, my lad, like some craven bilge rat. No. The Crocodile shall know precisely who it was that tricked him this Hallow’s Eve.”

Yep, it was definite. Henry was screwed. When his moms found out he’d let the pirate loose on the town—and there was no question they would—he’d be grounded until he was 50. Although if there was any justice in the world, they’d realize that he’d been spending the entire night trying to _stop_ his wayward step-dad-to-be.

Killian had clamped onto the idea of people playing tricks on each other like a dog with a bone. He’d peppered Henry with so many questions it made his head spin. And then, when Henry’d figured out he was asking all the questions not out of genuine curiosity, but because he was building a battle plan, he’d shut up and completely refused to tell Killian any more. Killian had taken it in stride, merely heading over to the “magic box” (aka the Internet. Geez, would the guy _ever_ learn modern terminology?) and searching until he’d found the information he wanted.

That had led to an epic mischief spree the likes of which Storybrooke had never seen. Henry had been trying to talk Killian out of all of it since they’d begun, but in the two hours since Killian learned about the tradition of pranking people, he’d already broken into Mr. Clark’s drugstore and stolen about fifty rolls of toilet paper, broken into Granny’s back room and stolen two dozen eggs, three bars of soap, five cans of whipped cream and a package of little kids’ sidewalk chalk, smashed a couple of sad, shriveled pumpkins in Peter Pumpkin Eater’s field (and carved another with a picture of a hook), written “boo!” across the windshield of Doc’s miata with the whipping cream, broken into Henry’s other mom’s house and short-sheeted her bed, fogged up the mayor’s office bathroom mirror and written “Hook was here” in the resulting condensed steam, drawn horns and a tail on an ad of Dr. Hopper that was plastered on a park bench, and drawn a rather unflattering picture on the sidewalk of Leroy with a “kick me” sign on his back.

Then came the big grand finale. Killian, unsurprisingly, decided to unload both barrels on Rumplestiltskin’s house. Now here they were, soaping his downstairs windows after t.p.-ing every tree on the premises, egging the upstairs windows and writing some rather unflattering statements in sidewalk-chalk along the Golds’ front stoop. (Henry was kind of impressed, in spite of himself. For having only been here for twenty minutes, Killian had wrought a lot of destruction.)

Suddenly a siren broke the late evening silence and flashing red and blue lights pierced the darkness. Henry froze in horror as his mom stepped from the cruise car, sheriff badge out and prominently displayed.

“Hey! What’s going on he….HENRY? _KILLIAN?!!!”_

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

_Present time_

Emma slammed the door of the police cruiser, her blood beginning to boil. It had been a pretty quiet night, considering. Then, suddenly, a couple of hours ago the phone had been ringing off the hook with citizens all over town complaining about little acts of vandalism. She hadn’t even had a chance to look into any of it until she finally got a call from Belle stating she thought the vandals were at her house as they spoke. (Gold, she’d said, was cowering under the bed.) She’d assured Belle she’d come look into it.

Little could she guess what she’d find when she got there.

It was a disaster area. Toilet paper hanging from every tree. Windows defaced. Sidewalk chalk (_sidewalk chalk!!) _spelling out creative curse words that went beyond anything even she’d ever heard.

And her idiot pirate fiance was at the center of all of it. Her idiot pirate fiance who’d evidently brought along her son for the ride.

Emma marched over to the culprit who grinned up at her without the slightest hint of shame.

“Evening love,” he said cheerfully as he dropped his bar of soap back in his bag of contraband. “Lovely night, isn’t it? Clear as a bell; not a hint of clouds.”

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” she asked through gritted teeth, crossing her arms and glaring at him with enough venom a lesser man would be quaking in his boots.

But in no way was Killian Jones a lesser man. And in no way would he, apparently, ever bow to authority.

“Getting into the spirit of the holiday,” he said cheerfully. “Henry here told me about trick-or-treating, and I took it upon myself to resurrect the ancient custom of tricking.”

Emma turned her glare on her son, who _did_ seem to appropriately grasp the gravity of the situation. “I’m sorry mom,” he said in a small voice. “I had no idea he wanted to actually, you know, do _this_!”

She opened her mouth to say a few things she’d likely later regret about Henry’s lack of judgement, but before she had a chance, Killian stepped in between her and her son.

“Your lad is not to blame for my malfeasance, Swan,” he said, face suddenly completely earnest. “He’s not contributed to any of the mischief and has, in fact, tried everything in his power to dissuade me from my course.”

Emma looked past the pirate to her son, and her face softened. He looked utterly miserable. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that. Alright kid. Let’s get you home to your other mom. You’ll have to stay with her tonight; I’m apparently going to have all I can handle trying to deal with the pirate here.”

She managed to hold her temper until she’d delivered Henry to Regina’s and then deposited Killian in one of the jail cells of the sheriff’s station. But when he smirked up at her, lifting his wrists, clearly about to make a comment about her affinity for handcuffs she lost it.

“What the _hell_, Killian?” she began, pacing in front of the cell. “How _old_ are you anyway? I expected this type of thing from the teenagers of this town but I’d hoped my 300 year old fiance had a little more maturity….”

She lectured for a good ten minutes before she had to stop for breath, finally looking up to catch his eye. The cocky grin was still firmly planted on his face, but she could swear she saw a touch of chagrin in his eyes.

And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, it all slammed into her again, how close she’d come to losing him. How he’d once again _died_ for her. How she’d had to go to the underworld to bring him back. How she’d never felt such utter devastation as the moment the underworld boatman pulled him into the portal. It was like someone had pulled a knife and cut her in half; like she couldn’t even _breathe_ with him gone. She’d never experienced that magnitude of pain, and it was something she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.

The tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him, peering at her curiously through the jail cell bars, and suddenly every drop of anger and exasperation drained from her. He was _here_. He was with her. He was alive and well. He could pull whatever stunts he wanted as long as it meant he was okay and by her side.

Killian noticed the shift in her demeanor immediately, his eyes becoming troubled. “Swan?” he asked, reaching out to her through the bars.

A tear slid from Emma’s eye, and she rushed to unlock the cell door and throw herself into his waiting arms. “Swan,” his voice was agonized this time, his hand rubbing her back soothingly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you distress. I’d no idea my delinquency would pain you, love.”

Emma chuckled weakly, pushing back enough that she could look up into his eyes. “It’s not your pranks, Killian. It’s just…it all came back to me again, you know? How I almost lost you. I…I don’t think I could have gone on without you.”

Killian leaned down and kissed her gently. “Of course you could, love. With your boy and your family by your side, of course you could.”

She shook her head, the tears threatening again. “Maybe I’d _survive_, but those few agonizing hours before we figured out how to get to you showed me I’d never be able to truly _live _again.”

He stroked her hair, the sensation as comforting as a cup of cocoa on a cold winter’s day. “Aye,” he said. “It was the same for me when you took on the darkness. But no more of this, Swan. If there’s one thing our last adventure should have taught you, it’s that I’m a man of my word. Even death can’t keep me from coming back to you.”

She laughed again, thrilling to the conviction in his voice. Loving him for never leaving her, not really, not even when there should be no possible way for him to stay at her side. She held him for long moments, her arms so tight he likely couldn’t breathe, but he made no complaint, burying his nose in her hair, holding her just as tight.

After long moments, Emma stepped back, realizing that as sheriff, she probably shouldn’t let tonight’s activities go without rebuke. “Okay,” she said, doing everything in her power to infuse her tone with a little sternness. “So here’s the deal. First thing tomorrow morning you go back to every single location you vandalized and you make it right. We’re talking pulling every sheet of toilet paper off the trees, cleaning the graffiti, paying for the items you plundered and making whatever restitution your victims demand. Then you make a formal apology to all of them. I can probably get everyone to drop the charges, but I’m not lifting a finger until you work to make this right.”

Killian sighed. “It’s only fair, love.”

She nodded. “And in the time being, come on; let’s go home.”

His brow furrowed in obvious confusion. “Home? Not that I’m complaining, but weren’t you supposed to work for the duration of the night?”

“Yeah, but I’ll transfer the phones. People can call me at home just as well as here.” She grinned, taking his hand, threading their fingers. “Besides, you obviously have too much time on your hands. Can’t take my eyes off you for a minute. I need to come up with _something_ to keep you occupied.”

He gave her that long, slow wink that never failed to turn her insides into mush. “Never fear Swan. I have faith in your resourcefulness. I’m sure you can think of something that will insure I’m far too busy to commit further criminal acts.”


End file.
